Boo's Journal
by Tam Cranver
Summary: The title really says it all. It's just a journal from Boo's perspective covering most of the major events in the book. Rating is for wee bits of violence, but not that much. Violence, that is.


Disclaimer: I don't own a single character mentioned; I imagine that they all belong to Harper Lee, since she wrote _To Kill a Mockingbird, _but I could be mistaken. I quite frequently am. All I own is my view on how Boo Radley might have felt about certain events in the book.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

July 30, 1810

Well, I've been in the house two weeks now. I never really thought about writing anything down, but it's amazing how bored a fellow gets locked in his own dang house.

To tell you the truth, I would've preferred industrial school. That's where all the Cunninghams got sent, but since Pop apparently has so much pull with the judge, I'm stuck here. I wonder if this is even legal. If I bust out of here, will the judge put me in jail or something?

It isn't as if we did anything so bad. We just drove around town in one of the Cunningham cousins' automobile. It was a piece of junk, but it wasn't stolen or anything like that. And we didn't hurt that old fogey Conner when he tried to arrest us, and it would have been real easy to. All we did was lock him in the outhouse. That was pretty decent of us, actually. What if he'd had to go before they let him out? Did he ever think of that?

Anyway, the judge would have sent me to the industrial school, but Pop thought it'd disgrace the family name if any Radley got sent somewhere with a bunch of Cunninghams. So I'm home, only now I can't leave.

Pop has given me just about every lecture there is; the "no associating with Cunninghams" lecture, the "alcohol is poison" lecture, and the "respect your elders" lecture. I'm still not all that repentant. Mama won't even look at me. I swear, Nathan could kill somebody and the folks would be proud of him, but since it's me, they've decided I ain't even worthy of the Radley name.

But I'll live. Heck, I'm 18 years old. What's Pop gonna do, keep me locked up in this house forever?

                                                                        Arthur Radley  
  


May 11, 1925

I think I'm gonna go crazy. All those years ago when I asked if Pop was gonna lock me up for the rest of my life, I was only joking. I didn't think he really would. I'm getting so I can't stand this house. Sometimes I just want to take a hammer and pound away at the walls until they break and there's an Arthur-sized hole in the back of the house.  I spend most of my time in the attic—at least there I can avoid Mama and Pop. I tried running away a couple of times, but Pop shot at me with the rifle he keeps by the door. Next time he says he'll just shoot me and be done with it.

I never thought much about what I'd do with my life when I was a kid, but I think about it a lot now. What would I have been out in Maycomb? Would I maybe have been a lawyer, like Mr. Finch down the street? Maybe I'd have helped Mr. Underwood run the newspaper. Maybe there'd be enough of Pop's inherited money for Nathan and me to both be gentlemen. I don't know. I could always be a farmer, but then Pop'd probably kill me. It's beneath the Radley station to farm like normal folks.

I hate Pop. Nathan, too. Maybe Mama. I'll have to think about it.

                                                                        Arthur Radley

July 16, 1927

I came home today. Mama says I oughta be grateful, something about not getting sent to an asylum. I would have contradicted her, but I really wasn't in the mood for a fight.

In case you were wondering, I spent the last couple of years or so locked in the courthouse basement. I think if he could have, Pop would have left me there forever. The county wouldn't pay for my keep, though, and anyway the damp in the basement was making me sick, so here I am.

The reason for all this is that everyone thinks I'm crazy, on account of the fact I stabbed my father in the leg with a pair of scissors. I'm not crazy. I'm just real angry. I was just sitting there, cutting pictures out of the newspaper, and he walked by and said, "Arthur," down his nose at me. I'm thirty-five years old, and he still talks to me like I'm a bad kid. I guess it wasn't so bad, but it sure made me see red at the time. I got so mad, before I had a chance to think about it, I just stuck the scissors in Pop's leg. 

Well, of course, Mama had a fit. She ran out screaming about me killing everyone. Sometimes I think Mama doesn't have the sense God gave fish. Stephanie Crawford was out in her yard at the time, and being the gossip she is, the whole town thinks I'm crazy now.

Well, maybe I was, but I don't think I am anymore. I just gotta keep the anger under control, or they'll lock me away for good.

                                                            Arthur Radley

                                                                                                                                    February 5, 1933

Pop died. He was sick for a while. Dr. Reynolds says it was his heart, and I believe him. I think Pop's heart was so shriveled up from being such a mean old man all those years that it killed him.

Nathan moved in. He's fixing to be as bad as Pop. I kind of hoped he would let me out of the house, but when I asked him about it, he said, "What've you got to go outside for, Arthur?" I wanted to belt him a good one, but I remembered the mess with the scissors. Every time I go near the doors, I find they're locked from the inside. Mama has keys. Nathan has keys. I reckon I oughta have keys. I've been in this dang house eight years, and that's long enough for me. I think I'm going to paw through Nathan's dresser sometime, see if I can find some keys.

                                                                        Arthur Radley

June 14, 1934

Well, I did find some keys. I only go out at night, though. Nathan would probably lock me in the attic or chain me to my bed or something if he caught me going outside. The way I figure it, I'm never gonna get out of this house without some help from the outside.

I found some gum in the kitchen drawer. Last night I snuck out and put it in the knothole in the oak tree out front. If I was smart, I'd have run, but where would I run to? I don't know much but Maycomb. Besides, Nathan would probably chase after me with his gun. He's the kind of fellow that'd really enjoy shooting his little brother down in cold blood. 

This afternoon, Mr. Finch's youngest kid, the girl, was walking by. She saw the foil and got the gum out of the tree, which was pretty daring if you consider that all the kids around here seem to be scared of our house. (Truth be told, I'm not overly fond of it myself.)

So I got this idea. Maybe, just maybe, if I get the Finch kids to believe that it's me giving them things in the tree, and if they get so they trust me, and we get so we can talk to each other, maybe they can convince their father I'm not crazy. If Mr. Finch thought I wasn't crazy, he'd talk to Nathan, and Nathan would have to let me be. At least, that's what I'm hoping. 

So I dug through the attic and I found the lucky pennies Grandpop gave me and Nathan when we were kids. I'm gonna put them in the knothole tonight.

                                                            Arthur Radley

July 31, 1934

I've been watching those kids out there, pretending to be me and Mama and Nathan, and they think I'm some kind of ghost! They call me "Boo," like I was a haint or something. Doesn't look like my great plan's going to amount to much.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

August 20, 1934

Those kids are crazy! Last night they tried to sneak into our house. They came around the back and tried to climb through the window. Nathan got out his gun and shot at them and that scared them off pretty quick. I said to Nathan, "What are you doing, shooting at those kids? What if you'd hit one of them?"

Nathan just looked at me like I was dirt on his boot and said, "What are they doing trying to get into our house?" I said I surely didn't know, but they're mighty young to be burglars. I asked if Nathan was going to tell Mr. Finch about it, but he said he wasn't. The way he figured it, Mr. Finch would get mad at him if he knew it was his kids Nathan was shooting at.

The Finch boy left his pants in our fence. I took them off the fence and I'm trying to mend them, but sewing isn't one of the things I'm real good at. I wonder how he's gonna explain showing up in his drawers to his pop.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

September 10, 1934

The Finch boy—Jem?—came back for his pants some while ago. I wonder how he explained the rip in them. I surely did my best with it, but it still looks like it's been sewn up by a blind woman using a butter knife as a needle.

Anyway, this got me thinking. Jem can't possibly think Nathan sewed up his pants. I thought maybe it was time to start leaving stuff in the knothole again, so I put some twine in there. The Finch kids aren't stupid. They left it there for a day or two, just in case, but they took it eventually. I'm a little excited. What else am I gonna put in there?

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

September 21, 1934

Nathan filled up the knothole with cement, just to spite me. I saw the cement, and I asked him about it. He said, pretty as you please, "Couldn't have you giving away the silverware, could we?"

It'd almost be worth another couple of years in the courthouse basement to stab him in the leg.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

December 11, 1934

Mama died. The cold got in her lungs and she just didn't feel like fighting it. She was too old to fight it. I don't know whether to be sad or not. She was as silly as they come, and she never stood up to Pop or Nathan, but she was still my mother. I feel obliged to at least think about her a little. Nathan's even more quiet than usual. I suppose the flower garden will go to ruins, come spring. I don't know the first thing about flowers, and heaven knows Nathan's not gonna bother himself. Mr. Finch came over and talked to Nathan. I said hello to him, but he just kept looking at me, which made me feel sort of funny, so I went back upstairs and listened to their conversation from the attic.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

                                                                                                                        December 20, 1934

Maudie Atkinson's house burned down last night. Just about everyone in the neighborhood, even old Nathan himself, came out to help get her furniture out. Mr. Avery got stuck in her upstairs window, which would have been funny if it wasn't so horrible, but he got out okay. The Finch kids, Jem and Scout, were standing outside our fence, watching the house burn. They were like statues, staring at it without moving a muscle. It was mighty cold out, so I gathered up the grit to sneak out of the house and put a blanket around the little girl. She was just wearing pajamas under her coat.

The lot where Miss Maudie's used to be is all black and burnt now. It looks like a giant rotten spot, like a hole in my mouth where a rotten tooth used to be. I see it just about every time I look out the window. I wonder what would happen if our house burned down like that. Nathan would go back to Pensacola, but where would I go?

                                                                        Arthur "Boo" Radley

January 10, 1935

Someone off down the street shot a gun. I wonder who it was; Nathan spent the day inside. The Finch's maid Concordia or Columbia or whatever her name is was banging on the door yelling something about mad dogs. There aren't any dogs in our neighborhood, are there? I surely don't remember seeing a dog around.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

March 22, 1935

Mrs. Dubose from down the street died today. She was an ornery old lady. I remember even back when I was a kid, she used to yell at me whenever I walked by her house. I wonder how she died. I asked Nathan, but he said not to be so morbid. Nathan never tells me anything.

                                                            Arthur "Boo" Radley

October 31, 1935

Tonight's been so strange, so exciting, I can't even think about it without getting all riled up. 

Tonight was the night of the Halloween pageant. They never had a pageant when I was a kid. I never got up enough nerve to sneak out and go to the pageant, but later, when it was mostly dark out, I came outside and watched all the kids in their food costumes go home.

I was just about to go back inside before Nathan caught me out, when I heard Jem Finch's voice yelling, "Run, Scout, run!" He sounded even more scared than he had when Nathan shot at him. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I certainly wasn't going to leave those kids out there by themselves.

At first, I just followed the noises (they were making a lot of them). When I got closer, though, I could see light bouncing off a smaller figure. I heard Jem scream, and he dropped to the ground. The shiny one, I thought, had to be Scout then, and somebody was grabbing her about the waist like he was trying to crush her. I grabbed him off of her. He just lay on the ground, so I figured he was unconscious or dead or something. Scout seemed okay, but Jem was the one who'd been screaming, and besides which, he was unconscious, so I picked him up and carried him to the Finch place. I could hear Scout following behind.

When I got there, Mr. Finch was already standing in the doorway. He took one look at me and his son in my arms and he helped me get Jem inside. Scout got there, and they called the doctor, and everyone was rushing around. I felt kind of useless, so I found a corner of the sitting room to stand in.

Sheriff Tate came, and he and Mr. Finch talked about what had happened. Seems like Bob Ewell had attacked Jem and Scout because he didn't like Mr. Finch. It had something to do with Mr. Finch defending Tom Robinson in court, but I didn't really grasp all of it. Mr. Ewell was dead. He'd been stabbed.

I'm pretty sure I didn't stab him. Sheriff Tate says he fell on his knife, and I'll believe that. If I start thinking I killed him, I don't know how I'll handle it. I'm kind of crazy, but I'm not a murderer. I gotta believe that, or I really will go batty. Anyway, I didn't have a knife. After I stabbed Pop with the scissors, Nathan keeps all the sharp things locked up.

Scout pointed at me in the sitting room, and suddenly everyone was looking at me, and Scout said, "Hey, Boo." Mr. Finch introduced us, but of course I knew who she was and she knew who I was, so he really didn't need to. Scout ran over to Jem and tried to cover him up with a blanket, but Mr. Finch said not to touch him. Did she not want me to see Jem, like he was lying there naked or something?

Dr. Reynolds came in, and said hello to me. I still wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to say. I hadn't really talked to anybody but Mama and Pop and Nathan for about twenty-five years now. I figured if I said anything they'd all think I was a moron, so I just kept quiet. We all went out to sit on the front porch. Scout showed me out there like a little lady; I just kind of nodded and sat in the dark corner. I wasn't really sure I wanted to be part of Sheriff Tate and Mr. Finch's conversation. They sort of fought about whether Jam killed Ewell or I killed Ewell or Ewell killed Ewell. Sheriff Tate left. Then Mr. Finch looked right at me and said, "Thank you for my children."

I couldn't believe it. It was like I never was a ghost. It was like any other man had gone out and saved his kids. I wasn't crazy, wasn't some overgrown hoodlum, I was a hero!

Right about then I started to want to go home. I guess after spending so much time by myself, it was kind of hard to be around all these people, all calling me "Mr. Arthur." But I did want to see Jem. It had been so loud earlier, I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. Scout, who's a real smart kid, figured this out and took me inside so I could see him.

I didn't want to get too close, in case I accidentally woke him up or scared him, but Scout pulled me over so I could look at him. It was the strangest thing; he had something like a little tent over his arm. It's probably some medical procedure.

I wanted to touch him, to make sure he was really there, right in front of me, not hiding about my house at night or sticking his hand in my oak tree. But I thought nobody'd really want me touching Jem, even if they were all grateful for me helping get rid of Bob Ewell. Scout said it was okay, though, so I put my hand on his head. It was warm.

Suddenly, I had to get out. The walls were closing in on me, like in the courthouse basement. There were too many people. (Maybe I'd be best off staying home, if I'm so scared of people.) I asked Scout if she'd take me home, because I really wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it on my own. My knees were getting awful weak.

Well! Nobody better say Scout Finch isn't a little lady. She made me put out my elbow, and she put her hand in it, like I was escorting her home.  I hadn't walked a girl home since I was seventeen. It felt…normal. 

When I got home, Nathan didn't say anything. If he had, I might have had to hit him. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm never letting Nathan push me around anymore. I'm not just his crazy younger brother, I'm a hero. I'm Boo Radley, and Atticus Finch said thank you to me, and Scout Finch walked me home, and there's nothing Nathan can say or do to make me forget that.

                                                                        Arthur "Boo" Radley

Author's Note: Another school project. I actually do most of my best work on school projects, I think. I appreciate any comments and criticisms, especially if they're constructive. I'm trying to work on being, you know, a better writer. I went into this English class thinking, "Oh yes, I am a good writer!" but then my teacher told me all these things that were wrong with how I write, so I'm trying to improve. And nobody really wanted to know that, so I'm going to just shut up and let you review if you want.


End file.
